Wednesday, 29 September 2010

Cows were like, "What are you doing in our field?". And I was like, "Well, it's actually a public footpath. I saw the sign." And cows were like, "Oh no you didn't." And I was like, "No, honestly, I did. Plus, it says so, right here, in my AA Guide To Norfolk Walks, right where it advises me to 'strike out across a field' in that overexcitable language that the authors of these things sometimes tend to use, to break the monotony of having to write the word 'waypost' seventy times a day." And cows were like, "Well, you can cock off if you think you're striking out across our field." And I was like, "Just watch me. I'm striking." And cows were like, "Well, just watch us. We're running, and charging at you." And I was like, "Okay, I'm in no rush. Maybe I can find a different way to head back in the direction of Long Stratton." And cows were like, "Yeah you can." And I was like, "No need to get nasty." And cows were like, "But we are nasty. Especially Geoff, on the far left. She's brown, and particularly big." And I was like, "What kind of idiot cow calls itself Geoff." And cows were like, "Geoff. That's who. Don't mess with her. Look. She's just done a massive shit. In public. That's how much of a mad bastard she is." And I was like, "Look, I'm leaving." And they were like, "No, you're not leaving at all. You're passing very slowly around the edge of the field, giving the impression that you're leaving, yet actually working towards your original destination." And I was like, "Yeah I am. What you gonna do about it?" And cows were like, "Well, nothing, actually. For reasons only known to ourselves, if that, we find that sort of movement less of a concern." And then all fourteen of us resumed the business of our day, without further debate.

Saturday, 4 September 2010

More and more, in his autumn years, The Bear likes to use the balcony of my house as a kind of bachelor flat: a place where he can sleep, groom himself, avoid those of a more lowbrow persuasion, and cogitate over the issues of the day. As the following sequence illustrates, he does not appreciate disturbances when he is in this domain, especially if they do not happen to be meat-themed.

What constitutes a perfect evening for you?It’s raining, Tamsyn is home and there’s a fire in the grate. After an hour or so of intense stroking, I’ll dine on tuna and milk. Maybe I’ll freak the rabbits out with a death-stare or two. Then I’ll sit at the kitchen window and watch the dog snivel as she gets colder and wetter, until she succumbs to pneumonia. But I’m sure that’s pretty much everyone’s perfect evening.

Defining moment of your life?Death leap from a second floor window to land on next door’s terrier. Actually, it was more of an accidental tumble, but don’t tell anyone that.

Any Enemies?Duh. The dog. Seriously, she makes George Bush look like Einstein.

If you could do one thing to make the world a better place for felines, what would it be?Round up the dog population and give them one squeaky toy between the lot of them, then sit back and watch the fur fly. Failing that, I’d make those cheesy little cat treat things free on the NHS. They’re so moreish.

If you could meet a celebrity who would it be and why?I’d like to meet George Clooney. He looks like he knows how to tickle under a girl’s chin just right. Mrrrrrrraaaaaooooow!

Which one of the cats in Under The Paw would you like to be stuck in a lift with?

I’m more of a lone-kitty type but if I had to choose, I’d say The Bear. We’re both a little challenged in the eye department and he looks like my namesake, the Tasmanian Devil.

Biography

I don’t remember much before Tamsyn and I became flat-mates but I do know those early years together were pretty wild. I lost count of the number of times I woke up on top of the wardrobe with no collar on and no idea how I got up there! Then The Screamer came along and it was all nappies and early nights. Before I knew it, I was being squashed up against a sticky face and having tea parties with Barbie.Then the other cats moved in and I entered my darkest days. Those kitties were bad-ass cats and I preferred to roam the neighbour’s garden than come home. It was a relief when Tamsyn left the bozo she was with and it was just the two of us again. And The Screamer, of course, but by this time she’d grown out of tea parties and I didn’t mind her so much.Everything was ticketty-boo until the dog came. I think the stupid creature actually thinks I like her. If only she knew I spend every waking moment planning her death. I mean, what kind of animal wags its tail when it’s happy? Once she’s out of the way, I can go back to doing what I do best; helping Tamsyn write her books. What, you really thought she wrote them on her own? Don’t make me laugh – I’m her right-hand cat!